


breathed so deep i thought i'd drown

by b_o_i



Series: shiro gets a present [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Choking, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, no one is surprised at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_i/pseuds/b_o_i
Summary: He first sees Keith at a market, on one of the trading planets on the outskirts of the empire, being sold off. The halfbreed boy glares up at him, pale yellow and purple in his eyes, and Lotor wants him immediately.





	breathed so deep i thought i'd drown

**Author's Note:**

> listen im on a roll. dk if that's a good thing or not but it's happening. 
> 
> as usual, do read the tags and know what ur getting into, this lotor isn't the lovely s5 prince i love and cherish

 

Lotor doesn’t think much of buying sex. True pleasure shouldn’t have to be paid for, just like true loyalty shouldn’t have to be bought—a lesson his father could learn, he never says out loud. He has a harem, of course, but he hardly bought any of them. Prisoners of war don’t count, and neither does collateral damage. There’s one pretty little thing who’s ruler gave her over in exchange for Lotor not blowing their planet up into tiny little pieces. He didn’t buy her; if anything, her ruler bought his own freedom. 

Still, despite it all, he first sees Keith at a market, on one of the trading planets on the outskirts of the empire, where all the shady black market kind of things happen. Lotor likes spending his days here sometimes, and a few of his generals like to poke around. He’s almost ready to leave, bored with the whole thing, when he sees a small group of people gathered around some strange little stage. There is a man yelling things into the crowd, there are a group of pitiful looking creatures huddled off to the side, and there is a work of art on stage.    
  
He’s a little thing, tiny even by non-galra standards, with small galra ears and no claws and a very pale dusting of fur that looks nothing like it. Lotor wants to feel it. Lotor wants to drag his fingers through the thing’s dark hair. Someone yells out a number. He’s being sold off, it seems.    
  
“What is that?” He asks, parting the crowd with his presence.    
  
The man on stage looks wary only for a moment, before his mouth splits into a wide grin. “This here’s an authentic halfbreed whore,” he says. “Rare.”   
  
“Half breed,” he repeats, “What is his other half?”   
  
“Don’t know. If the bitch knows he hasn’t told anyone. Pretty, isn’t he?”   
  
Interesting, he thinks. Very very interesting. The halfbreed boy glares up at him, pale yellow and purple in his eyes, and Lotor wants him immediately. He doesn’t believe in paying for pleasure, but he’ll pay for this.    
  
“I’ll take him,” he says.   
  
The man laughs, “There’re people who got here before you; I doubt you could match their price.”   
  
Annoyed now, Lotor pulls out his sword, and slices through the old wooden podium. The man squeaks. Lotor tosses a bag of money onto the floor. “I said, I’ll take him.”    
  
“Of course. Of course.”   
  
The rest of the exchange goes smoothly. He’s given the keys to the cuffs around the boy’s wrists and a promise that he’s pretty much unused. Found him sneaking onto a galra ship a few years back, but no one’s touched him since he bit out some poor fucker’s tongue. It’s a mystery to Lotor how no one else has even tried, but he’s not going to complain. The boy scowls at him, refuses to bow or speak or show any kind of respect as Lotor leads him away. He has also been told, quite obviously, that he bites. This is going to be fun. 

He considers sending him to a pleasure house somewhere to train him up without any work on his part, make him easy and pliant. He eventually decides not to; it’ll be much better fucking the fight out of him himself.    
  
He has him cleaned and dressed and smacked around a bit when he tries to run, and then escorted to his chambers. His cuffs are still around his wrists. He wonders how he’d look in a collar. He’s not an animal, though, and Lotor isn’t a monster, he’s not about to perpetuate stereotypes about half breeds.    
  
The boy is dressed like a whore. Like one of those harlots down in the pleasure houses, but he doesn’t walk like one. He’s defensive and uncomfortable and annoyed. Lotor loves it.    
  
The first time Lotor fucks him, he doesn’t hold back. He needs to show the bitch who’s in charge here. Needs to fuck the warning into him to drive it home.    
  
The boy kicks and claws at him at first—tries to bite his fingers off when Lotor tells him to get them wet, so he takes him dry. He presses one wrist into the mattress and digs his nails into the boy’s hip hard enough to draw blood, fucks into him hard and fast and watches him try his best not to sob. It doesn’t work.    
  
By the time Lotor comes deep inside him, the poor thing is crying, an arm thrown over his face. Lotor bends it back, presses a soft kiss to his red lips, flips him onto his stomach, and pushes back in. The boy sobs into the mattress, and Lotor comes harder than he has in weeks. Afterwards, when he asks the boy what his name is, he tells him that it’s Keith.    
  
It’s a good day. 

 

When it’s been nearly two months and Keith is still glaring at him whenever he’s not holding back tears, Lotor is still enjoying his game. When he still refuses to open his mouth without biting, no matter how roughly Lotor pushes him to his knees or pulls his hair, he’s had enough.    
  
He tells his personal guard, a group of soldiers he trusts second only to his generals, that they can do whatever they like as long as they don’t kill him, mess his face up or seriously injure him, and leaves them to it.    
  
The look on Keith’s pretty little face when he tells him what’s going to happen—  _ since you’ve been so uncooperative, I’m going to show you what it will be like if you continue and I decide to give you away; if you’re going to act like a bitch I’m going to treat you like one _ —is beautiful. When he calls in his guard, when Keith sees that it’s actually going to happen, the fear in his eyes is almost enough for Lotor to call the whole thing off and fuck him himself, but not quite.    
  
He waves a small goodbye, and leaves the guest room. He hears the sound of cloth tearing and Keith cursing before the doors slide shut. He smiles.    
  
He comes back a few hours later, after he’s done some work and eaten a delicious dinner. Keith is face down on the bed, unmoving, face buried in the sheets; one of the guards is fucking him shallowly, dragging his hips up and back with each thrust like Keith is too weak to do it himself. Lotor hopes that he is. He watches until his guard is finished, come dripping down Keith’s already wet thighs, and orders them out with a smile.    
  
Keith barely looks up at him as he walks towards the messy bed, curled up like a small child. Spirits above, he looks wrecked. Lips bright red and bruised, thighs messy with come and blood and his hips dark from countless fingers pressing into the pale skin. Some ambitious one painted the boy’s face, dripping down his neck and collarbones; it’s dried and cracking by now, hot tears cutting through it. It’s like he didn’t even try to wash it away. He’s beautiful.    
  
When Lotor puts a hand on his head, he jerks back and makes a hurt sound, like moving at all is painful. The noise cracks in his throat; Lotor wonders if he’d been yelling.    
  
“Did you enjoy your time with my guards?” He asks into the quiet room.    
  
Keith buries a sob in the sheets and shakes his head. Lotor pets his head fondly.    
  
“I asked you a question,” he says, “I expect an answer. Did you enjoy your time?”   
  
“No,” Keith says, tilting his head to the side so he’s heard; Lotor wipes away a tear, and Keith flinches.    
  
“Why not? I’m sure they loved theirs.” Keith tilts his head carefully into Lotor’s hand, chasing the warmth; Lotor grips his chin to stop him. “I asked you a question,” he reminds him.    
  
“It hurt,” he says; Lotor wants to lick up the fear in his voice, see if his lips taste salty with tears, “They were...”   
  
“They were what?” He asks.    
  
“They were  _ mean _ ,” Keith whispers.    
  
Lotor makes a soothing noise, lets Keith bury his head into the crook of Lotor’s thigh. “Of course they were. Do you know why?”   
  
Keith begins to shake his head, but seems to think better of it and says, “No.”   
  
“Because that’s how whores are treated. That’s how you would be treated, if I wasn’t kind enough to take you in myself. Aren’t you grateful you belong to me instead?”   
  
“Yes,” Keith says, trembling against him.   
  
“Yes what?”   
  
“Y-Yes your majesty.”   
  
Victory tastes so good Lotor could moan at the feel of it. He traces the curve of Keith’s neck, instead. “There you go, isn’t this better? Better than sending you off to the pleasure house? I’m sure their patrons would get a kick out of fucking a pretty little half breed like you.”    
  
Keith shakes his head frantically, grasping at Lotor, “No, please, please don’t.”   
  
“Why not? You’ve been disobedient and disrespectful.”    
  
“I’m sorry,” he cries, “I’m sorry, I’ll be good, please, I’m sorry.”   
  
“I’m sure you are,” Lotor agrees. He runs gentle fingers through the boy’s messy hair; tilts his head up slowly and tugs him towards his crotch, “Show me.”   
  
Keith takes him into his mouth without hesitation, and doesn’t take a breath to even consider threatening to bite. He’s warm and wet around him, inexperienced but learning, all the fire fucked out of him, and Lotor laughs.

 

He’s more pliant, after that. Pushes back a bit but doesn’t push too far. Lotor wasn’t truly considering giving him away, he’s too entertaining, but Keith doesn’t need to know that. 

Keith lets him dress him up and does his best not to cross his arms after Lotor bent one back so far it almost broke— this boy is such a breakable thing, unlike the sturdy build of most galra. Whatever his other half is, it has left him vulnerable, able to be broken down and rebuilt however Lotor sees fit. He spoils him when he feels like it, won’t let him walk around in the rags of petty slaves, but imports in pretty, soft silk and bands for his arms and his legs and his ankles, sometimes, gold against his skin. He likes him best in purple. 

He never lets him get too full of himself, though. 

Lotor sits in with his father one day, and his father lays out all the ways he has been lacking in his war efforts and his control of the planets that have been placed under him and on and on and on and Lotor is at the end of his rope by the time he is dismissed. His father knows nothing about what he’s been doing. Wasting his time? At least he isn’t so haunted by the memory of power that he spends every waking moment looking for the useless lions of voltron. 

Keith is waiting in his chambers, lying uselessly on the bed. Lazy. If anyone is wasting their time, it’s his little half breed whore, doing nothing but waiting around until Lotor decides to give him something to do. If he wants something to do so badly, Lotor will gladly give. 

He doesn’t give the bitch time to sit up before he pulls him down the bed, hands hooked under the crooks of his knees. 

“Your majesty,” he tries to say, but Lotor slaps him before he can get another word in. The brat looks  _ offended,  _ of all the things in the galaxy, like he has a right not to be hit. Like Lotor doesn’t have a right to do whatever he wants. Like Keith can do anything but lay back and take it like the whore he is. He’s so  _ spoiled _ . 

“Your majesty,” he tries again, because it takes him so long to get things through his empty little head, so Lotor rips the pretty, imported silk straight down the middle and gets a hand around the boy’s throat. His eyes widen in fear, hands grasping at Lotor’s wrist. Heat pools low in Lotor’s stomach. 

“If I tell you to shut your mouth,” he says lowly, tightening his grip and watching Keith gasp; his cock twitches in arousal, “you shut your mouth. You take whatever I give to you and you don’t complain, do you hear me?”

Keith, valiantly, does his best to nod through his lack of oxygen. Lotor lets him up to breathe, soaks up the way he gasps and coughs. He gets his pants down and knees Keith’s legs apart and pushes in while he’s distracted. Keith cries out, body jerking in surprise, and he gets his hand around his neck again, claws curling against the delicate skin there. It would be so easy to kill him, even before he choked to death. A twitch of his wrist and he could slice him open. His life is in his hands in all senses of the phrase. He can do whatever he wants. 

The thought has him thrusting in harder, deeper, letting Keith breathe while he pushes his legs further apart, pins him down, and then cutting him off again. He’s fascinated with the way his weak throat spasms under his hand, the way tears spring into his eyes like a reflex. He counts how long the boy can hold his breath before his eyes start to go hazy, and then lets him gasp for air like he’s a dying, drowning man and Lotor is his savior. 

“I could kill you,” he tells him, peering down at him and his big, watery eyes, “I could kill you, and you couldn’t stop me. Who do you belong to?” 

Keith closes his eyes for a brief moment, blinking away a tear; Lotor’s hand hovers dangerously over his bruised up neck, “You,” he croaks, like he’s giving up. Lotor bends down to taste the sweat pooling his his collarbones, because he can. Because they’re his. 

“Say it again,” he orders. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” he repeats, “You, your majesty.”

“ _ Say _ it.”

“I belong to you - your majesty, my lord, my prince.”

“Your  _ emperor _ ,” he hisses. 

“My emperor,” Keith gasps helplessly, with a reverence Lotor has never heard, even from his generals, “My emperor.”

Lotor comes harder than he ever has in his life. 

 

Lotor likes to parade him around sometimes, because he’s pretty, and he’s rare, and he likes people knowing that he has what they don’t. 

He lets him rest on the floor by his feet sometimes during war meetings and the like, head resting on his knee. He pets his soft hair absently. Barely looks at him, but makes a show out of him all the same. It paints a nice picture, he thinks: the halfbreed prince with his halfbreed generals and his halfbreed whore, all of them worlds better than anyone else. 

One day, when a group of his father’s hopelessly incompetent generals are discussing whether or not to take a planet by force or threaten/talk them into surrendering, Lotor asks, “What do you think, Keith?”

Keith’s little head jerks up, looking up at his in surprise. The generals look at him like he’s lost his head somewhere. Lotor just smiles. 

“Surely you were listening.” Keith nods slowly. “Well, what do you think?”

“I…” he pauses, like he’s waiting to see if Lotor is serious. Lotor gestures for him to continue, “Well, if you take them by force, I think… they’re more likely to rebel in the future. If you win them over, they’ll owe their safety to you. And therefore be more loyal.” 

It’s a good point, well thought out. He’s speaking from experience. Lotor could laugh at the looks on the generals’ faces. 

“I agree,” he says, looking at one particular man who’d been arguing with the prince for the better part of the meeting. The rest of the generals, cautiously, follow suit. The man looks humiliated, but too scared to say anything to his face. Lotor would be humiliated, too—it must do something awful to the ego, knowing that the halfbreed prince’s pleasure slave has more of a sway in a tactical decision than you do. 

Well, Lotor thinks, running his fingers fondly though the boy’s hair, he did learn from the best. 

He fucks him soft and sweet later that night, opens him up on his fingers until he’s dripping around him, soaking he sheets underneath him, arching helplessly and beautifully, and makes sure to send him over the edge first.  _ Smart boy, _ he murmurs into the curve of his neck, Keith’s ankles crossed at the small of his back, thighs trembling,  _ pretty boy. Everyone’s begging for a taste but I’ll never let their dirty hands touch you. Smart, smart boy.  _

 

It takes time and effort, but Keith does learn. He learns to drape himself across Lotor’s lap at gladiator matches and sit between his legs and suck him off in the control room of his ship after a battle. He learns when to call him prince or majesty or emperor— only calls him Lotor twice, when the gaping hole in Lotor’s chest is howling and he wants something more than a coerced fuck and Keith’s pretty voice moaning his name is enough to send him toppling over the edge. He learns when to curl up on the bed with him and when to sleep on the floor and when to lay back and let Lotor take what’s his. 

He enjoys his favorite whore for the next few years, molds him and shapes him, before the Champion shows up. Just a human, at first, nothing special. Lotor is sure he’s going to die quickly. He does not. In fact, he wins every single match they toss him in. 

Keith, quietly but obviously, takes an interest in him. A small one, but an interest all the same. They look similar, he and the human. They’re both small, though Keith is smaller, and are built the same in everything but eyes, ears and color. Lotor thinks that maybe they’ve found his other half. 

Just like that first time at that dirty little market, Lotor wants to know. He also wants to see how his favorite whore would look spread out under his broad and vicious counterpart. 

So, after the match where the human becomes the Champion, Lotor sends him a reward.

 

**Author's Note:**

> me, actively writing keith being choked out for the thirtieth time in a row: lotor's such a nasty bitch i cant believe this


End file.
